


Black Sails Ficlets

by drivingsideways



Category: Black Sails
Genre: F/M, Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-03
Updated: 2017-08-03
Packaged: 2018-12-10 14:44:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,289
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11693856
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/drivingsideways/pseuds/drivingsideways
Summary: A collection of ficlets first posted over on Tumblr. Ratings/Relationships added as chapters get added.





	1. This Year's Love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Marriage, he thinks, is being seen.

1.

Later-much later- Thomas takes an inventory; a languid count of changes visible. He trails a finger down James’ ear, whispers, eyes crinkling, “an earring?” and presses chapped lips to the sickle-moon on his arm, places his calloused palm across the bullet-shaped wound on his shoulder, runs the back of his hands against the roughened grain of his scalp-

James lets him.

James takes his own silent inventory: each broken bone badly reset, the gash on Thomas’ left thigh, the way his fingers remain bent, knuckle joints reddened-

 “I can’t remember” Thomas says, suddenly, softly. “Not all of them. Which ones are -new- and which are from- “he swallows- “I tried not to forget you, but you slipped away from me, while I wasn’t being careful.”

“You didn’t forget me” James replies, “You recognized me even”-

He finds he cannot go on; the shadows thrown by the single lamp seem to take on a different, familiar shape, but her face is hidden from him.

Somewhere, a house is burning to the ground.

Somewhere, a bullet meant for him has found its home.

“ _I_ recognize _you_ ” he says, after a moment, softly, “that counts for something, doesn’t it?”

 

2.

 

“Let me” he says, “wash it off.”

She kisses him harder.

 

His shirt is crusted with it, stiff and red-brown. There’s a gash-where a crewman of the Maria Aleyne had landed a-lucky-blow. It had bled more than he’d imagined, the cloth tied around his waist soaked through.

It’s hard to tell how much of it is his.

Some of it has soaked through, leaving streaks, flaky on his chest. It’s everywhere, he knows- his chest, arms, on his palms, under his nails: even his boots were soaked, slick with it.

She presses her palm, hard, into his side, it comes away wet.

The wall scrapes against her skin, stings.

His teeth are sharp.

She presses him into the bed, laying her whole body across his, and she isn’t heavy, but he can’t breathe, and she steals what remains from his mouth.

There will be scars.

There _should_ be.

 

When he wakes up, she is drawing water from the well.

 

3.

 

The first time James undresses entirely in front of Miranda, he feels awkward, ungraceful. Here, in her bedroom, where every object seems carefully chosen and precisely placed- each painting and statuette, the delirious yellow bloom of roses that fill the deep blue-and-white vase by the bed-even the books that- on first glance- seem carelessly scattered, even those seem part of a design, at the heart of which is Miranda. Miranda, with her wicked smiles and soft, sure, hands; her eyes, so warm and full of mischief- eyes that are laughing (a little) at him, as he stands there, bare- _I don’t belong here_ , he thinks, almost overcome by an urge to run-hands clutching his shirt- the finest one he owns that feels, in this elegant place- _common-_

-but Miranda is right in front of him ( _when had she moved from the bed?)_ and her hands are moving over his, gently- _gently!-_ prising his fist open-and her eyes aren’t laughing anymore as she takes his hand and places an open mouthed kiss on his roughened palm, before placing it on her breast-

-the bed is silk and cool against his skin that has become a conflagration in the wake of her questing hands that wander every inch of it; asking, _taking-_ an unremarkable geography turned into something wondrous, as she tells him how she wants him, and arranges him into the precise shape of her needs; finds a place for him in her room of beautiful things, unerring in this, as always.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Like and reblog on tumblr


	2. Once upon a Dream

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I'm going to die, she thinks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Madi [to her mother]: “You have protected me for so very long. It is time I did the same for you.” 
> 
> Episode coda for 3.10

It’s been thirty-six hours.

She knows this because she’s counted the candles melted to the mud floor; the only source of light in their hut, since the door was closed to give her privacy.

The thin sheet underneath her is soaked through.

Her body feels wrung out.

_I am going to die._

This is not the first time she’s had this thought.

*

The very first time, she’d been eleven, crushed between bodies as the ship that was carrying them-where-she didn’t know-groaned and tossed its way across an ocean. She didn’t know how many days she’d been there: they were already underway when she’d regained consciousness, ankles weighed by heavy chains that dug into her skin. There was dark, then there was light streaming through three portholes high above, then dark, then light. She’d tried to keep count, but there were-hours?days?-where it seemed as though she’d opened her eyes only to dark, and then dark again. Salt, sweat, blood, shit, death. Light, then dark, then light.

_I am going to die._

She does not.

*

The second time she has that thought, she’s fifteen, there’s blood running down her back, dripping to the ground beneath her.

Thirty lashes, the mistress has said.

She tries to keep count but couldn’t, not after the first five.

It must end, she thinks faintly, soon.

It doesn’t.

_I’m going to die_.

 

She does not.

*

There’s voices around her, she can’t make out if they’re whispering or whether it’s her mind that makes it seem like they are hushed.

“Baby” she hears, and “blood”.

That’s right, she thinks, babies are born in blood.

She drifts.

*

She opens her eyes, and squints against the light. It’s bright enough that she feels like she should be burning with it. But she doesn’t burn; instead, she feels cool sand beneath her feet.

There’s laughter and then the rushing of feet: a little girl with bright eyes and long hair runs past her, down-the-beach?- to the clear blue water. At the edge, the girl stops, turns toward her.

“Come” she says, “we have to go”

“Where?” she says, and her throat feels dry, as though it hasn’t touched water in days.

“Come” she says again, “with me.”

As she says it, a boat appears behind her, bobbing gently in the water.

When they are seated, the girl takes the oars and starts to row.

“Do I know you?” she asks her, because there’s _something_ about her eyes.

The girl doesn’t reply, only smiles – a sweet, _familiar_ smile-and keeps rowing.

“Where are we going?” she tries.

“The island”, comes the reply.

“What island?” but even as the words leave her mouth, it looms ahead: a white beach, an emerald forest.

It feels like-

There’s a gasp, a wheezing sound that startles her attention back to the boat-

She feels a scream rise in her throat.

The girl is covered in blood, it seems to be gushing from her side, her hands are slick with it, slipping on the oars that she still clings to.

She tries to rise, but she can’t move. The sudden weight of her limbs- there are iron chains wrapping themselves around her-the thunder of her heart-the roaring in her ears-the bleeding girl-are in contrast to the gentle rocking of the boat, the azure of the water that lazily laps at the beach.

She half hurls herself, half crawls toward the girl, the chains squeezing around her, every breath an agony, but she manages to reach the oars before they slip through the girl’s hands and fall into the sea. She seems to be saying something- _what is it_ \- her mouth makes shapes that are incomprehensible-

_Hold on_ , she says-thinks?-screams?- _hold on_. 

_I’m going to die, she thinks, but I will not let her die._

And so, she rows.

*

She wakes up with a start. Madi bends over her, a small smile on her lips.

“Is it over?” she asks, but she knows the answer.

Madi’s smile becomes something else- that familiar smile, she thinks-a beacon of light in this dark.

“It has begun.” she replies.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Like and Reblog on tumblr


End file.
